Page 65 of The Ragpicker King
Conor set down his pen. “To seek her help with my father, yes. I’ve asked her to remake the medicine Fausten was giving him.”
Your medicine,Fausten had shouted, just moments before the King had pushed him from the clifftops to his death below.Only I can make it. If you kill me, your sickness will be worse. You know what is coming, my lord.
“And you think that’s the best course of action? Fausten was hardly trustworthy,” Kel said.
“Trustworthy or not, my father was better while he was taking Fausten’s potion. He is worse now. And we are running out of time.” Abruptly, he looked up at Kel. “I don’t expect to get back the father I once had, Kel. But even a father who speaks to me and can reason would be a great improvement. And we cannot hide him away forever. It makes the Aurelians seem weak.”
The memories were coming thick and fast tonight. Kel recalled the words of the Dark Assassin, on the night of the massacre in the Gallery.You stand upon the threshold of history, Sword Catcher, for this is the beginning of the fall of House Aurelian.
“Well,” Kel said, “this is not a sword whose thrust I can block for you. But I will help in any way I can.”
Conor bit the end of his pen thoughtfully and said, “Take my place at the banquet tomorrow night.”
Kel felt obscurely disappointed; he had hoped for a more direct action. “Are you sure? The last time I took your place at a banquet, it did not go well.”
This was certainly an understatement. Conor shot him a wry look. “It seems vanishingly unlikely to happen twice in succession, don’t you think?”
Kel couldn’t help but laugh. “Do Jolivet and Bensimon know of this plan of yours? Or the Queen?”
“Jolivet knows. The others, not yet. If they ask why I’m not attending, tell them I’m drunk or in a brothel. Just don’t tell them I’m meeting with Lin Caster in the hope of helping my father.”
“I’m not sure they’ll believe me about the brothel,” Kel said. “You’ve changed your ways too much.”
“Tell them I backslid. Or I backslid and then went to seek forgiveness from the Hierophant for my sins.” Conor gestured vaguely. “You’ll come up with something.”
“And what shall I tell Anjelica? Your bride-to-be?”
“I’ll tell her I won’t be in attendance,” Conor said, to Kel’s surprise. “I can be straightforward with her. It’s what she wants, which is a relief. Though I cannot tell her about my father,” he added, tapping his pen against his teeth. “That would be going too far.”
“I’m sorry you have to keep it all a secret,” Kel said. He knew the weight that secrets carried.
At that Conor smiled—his rarely seen, plainly sincere smile. “At least I can tell you,” he said. “You’re the only one I can trust.”
Like a once famous gladiator returning to the Arena to show that he had lost none of his skill, Queen Lilibet had unleashed all her talent for entertaining upon Anjelica’s welcome banquet.
The Shining Gallery remained closed, its doors nailed shut since that terrible night, so Lilibet had decided to take advantage of the hot weather and hold this particular banquet out of doors, in the Queen’s Garden, with its walls of greenery and central pool, black-tiled so as to reflect perfectly the changing colors of the moon. Tonight it was tinged slightly blue, like Valdish wine.
Outside the garden, in the buzzing twilight, Kel—with Benaset behind him, a silent guard—was waiting for Anjelica. All the nobility had already arrived. Only Anjelica was late, though no one was surprised. As the new Princess, she would be expected to make a memorable entrance.
Though Kel’s view of the party was partially blocked by theflame trees Lilibet had imported from Kutani to add to the decorations, he could hear the raised voices of the nobles and see dancing lights through the leaves, like the eerie candle-glow that sailors reported seeing far out to sea, leaping and frolicking atop the nighttime waves.
It was a hot night, and the fire-red outfit that had been made for Conor to wear was uncomfortably heavy with touches of velvet and brocade. It bore some Kutani influence as well: gold sea-dragons sewn up and down the sleeves and the plackets of the long scarlet coat, each of their eyes a fire opal. Around his throat and wrists were collars of gold, intricate with Kutani knotwork. Kel thanked Aigon for the night breezes; he would be sweating through his clothes otherwise. Not just from the heat, but from nerves.
Many years had passed since he’d panicked every time he was required to impersonate Conor. In the first years of being a Sword Catcher, it was what he’d hated most—far more than the idea of being in danger. Every impersonation was walking a tightrope: always remembering you were playing a part while also remembering every tiny detail that made you someone else.
He was not totally sure why his nerves were playing up tonight. Perhaps because the last time he’d impersonated Conor at a banquet, the bride-to-be had ended up pinned to the wall with a crossbow bolt, and he hadn’t been able to stop the horror. Perhaps because Anjelica had so easily fooled him with her deceitful walnut trick. He grinned to himself in the dark. All right, it had been alittlefunny. Perhaps—
But Benaset was tapping Kel on the shoulder, muttering for him to straighten up and present himself properly. Kel turned to see Anjelica coming down the path from the Palace, making her way between the hedges with her Bloodguard brothers at her side.
Her dress was nominally in the style of Castellane, with a tight bodice and pleated skirt, beneath which sandals of dark-gold leather were visible. But the fabric was like no other material Kel had ever seen: It had the sheen of satin, seeming to pour over her body, as ifher dark-brown skin had been painted with a fierce and uncompromising liquid flame. Around her throat glimmered a collar of brilliant orange citrines, and the same stones dangled from her ears. Her braids were wrapped with gold wires, and threaded along the wires were more gems: cinnamon-colored garnets and imperial topaz, yellow jade and ametrine.
Her beauty was as startling as ever. It made him think of the beauty of a sword, sharp and bright and almost stern. The kind of beauty that seemed as if it could cut.
She acknowledged him with a slight nod as she came near. Her brothers were walking close to her, their heads together in murmured conference. Their uniforms of cinnabar and gold seemed to glow against the dark night.
Kel offered her his arm, stiff with embroidery and jewels. “Greetings,Ayakemi,” he said.
“And to you,Ufalme,” she said, taking his arm.
